


Arrangement

by X_Kartoffel_X



Series: Sharp Suits & City Lights [1]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Before Crisis Era (Compilation of FFVII), Final Fantasy VII - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Final Fantasy VII, Shinra Company, Turks (Compilation of FFVII), final fantasy 7 - Freeform, shinra electric power company - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Kartoffel_X/pseuds/X_Kartoffel_X
Summary: On the third morning, he had noticed that two of his better pens had been stolen, and that his paperclips had all been mangled - left strewn messily, and at random, across his work surface - but had not commented. Simply removed, and replaced them.Reno, sporting two new pens on his own desk, and a glare that could wilt plant life, had not seemed too impressed at the time. Perhaps, he had hoped to elicit a reaction.Rude, if nothing else, was an expert at poker faces.He most definitely doesn’t wait for Reno to go and make himself a coffee in the kitchen down the hall - a task which Rude is already a hundred percent aware takes a solid ten to fifteen minutes, because Reno likes to dawdle - and certainly doesn’t use that time to knock one of the rubber feet from the bottom of one of Reno’s chair legs - leaving the furnishing permanently wonky on one side… and most definitely does not change his computer settings so that the ‘@’ key on his keyboard delivers a comma instead.That would be childish.
Relationships: Reno & Rude, Reno/Rude
Series: Sharp Suits & City Lights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1023375
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> In which a partnership is formed, if a little reluctantly, and Veld is incredibly tired.
> 
> Some things need a little time, before they go right.
> 
> (I do not currently have a beta reader, so apologies for any typos I might have missed!)

When they call Rude into the director's office, he isn't sure what he's supposed to expect: firing, maybe. A Turk without a partner was a liability on most missions, and he's still considered too junior to work solo... of course, around here firing meant something very different and much more literal than most places of employment. The last Turk to be fired hadn't been seen since, and any attempt to query their whereabouts lead to uneasy attempts to derail the subject, or discomfort-furrowed brows. Suggestions to drop the subject. He had always wondered how that would appear in a person's file; but of course, the odds of their file outliving them was so unlikely it was almost laughable. Sal, of course, appeared as he should; a Killed in Action notice printed, stark on the cover.

Tseng had said it was only fitting; even if he had been shot meters from his apartment building, he was a Turk... and a Turk was never off-duty.

Rude had looked once. Just once. Never again.

He squares his shoulders; shrugging off the thoughts of things best left where they belonged. Over, and in the past. As he makes his first step into the room, Rude finds himself wondering why he turned up at all. If firing is what he expected, it would take an idiot, and only an idiot, to risk coming... but his brain doesn't even try to process an answer. This is simply what he does; the Corporation says 'jump', he doesn't even need to ask how high.

He just jumps.

ShinRa has given him everything; a life worth living. If they decide it is time to end that arrangement, he is in no position to argue.

Nothing in the office seems out of the norm.

The lights are low; a faint glow from a fitted light on the wall, and a circle of illumination upon the desk, from the lamp upon it. The tight line of Veld's thin lips is the same as ever; his shoulders silhouetted against the window behind him through which a dull Mako glow stutters between the half closed blinds. He looks as stoic, and professional as always; hair brushed back, away from his features, the lines around his eyes and mouth giving him a severe, serious look. A lit cigarette dangles between his fingers; an unusually welcome distraction, Rude tries to focus on breathing through his mouth to avoid the smell.

"We'll keep this one brief, Rude. Since we both have better places to be."

It is not necessarily true, in Rude's case anyway, but he nods slowly and silently. Waits for some kind of cue as to what reaction he should be having in this situation. He's in no rush to be six feet under, after all.

Nothing comes. He cannot spot a single thing out of place in the room, compared to the many other times he has occupied a space within it.

Veld just... looks at him. Observes quietly, as he is often in a habit of doing with his subordinates. Like something akin to a proud father, sizing up his offspring... however with massively understated pride. Only there if you were observant enough to catch it.

 _Rude catches it_ , this time.

He resists the urge to shift his weight to his left foot.

"You're a very promising agent, Rude." He turns towards the window, taking a long drag on his cigarette, as he views something in the city below; harsh profile lit by the shuttered blinds. The lines across his forehead deepen; years of worry and anger and all manner of emotions, amassed in his features. "Sal...” A pause. Another heavy, long drag on his cigarette. Sal had been one of the originals; personally trained by Veld himself. Rude recalls that the director had been scarce in the main office, in the days that followed his death. Even Tseng had barely spoken with him during that time. “He always used to speak very highly of your performance in his reviews."

As the smoke curls in the air, the slightest hint of something like a smile quirks at the corner of the Director's lip.

"Just doing what he taught me." It's odd, hearing someone talk about Sal. Everyone else had avoided the subject like the plague, most especially around Rude himself, and now- it shouldn't surprise him, that Sal spoke highly of him. Their joking banter that he was too straight-laced, too focussed on the job...

He sees Veld's gaze flicker towards him, for the briefest of moments, and realises that he is forgetting himself. "Sir."

"And then some, alongside it.” Veld's gaze finds him, as he half-turns in his chair. “He thought you would be gunning for a more senior role in a matter of months."

Rude lets out a little snort of laughter before he can catch it. If Veld notices, he makes no sign of it. His back is now fully towards Rude – gaze apparently focussed on the world outside. The city below. "He liked to think so, sir."

"And you don't agree with the sentiment, I assume?"

"No, sir."

"You like doing the ground level work?"

Rude shrugs, and hears the muscles in his neck pop and crack at the motion. Carrying tension... figures. "I'll move up when you, and Tseng, think I'm ready."

"No rush to get yourself stuck behind a desk... hm.” A look that might be appraising; Rude, for all his observations, struggles with Veld. “You're young. It's not surprising."

" _Sir._ " He isn't sure where this conversation is going and it makes him impossibly uneasy. Veld barely seems to have noticed; turns once more in his chair to extinguish his cigarette in the ashtray upon his desk. As he steeples his hands in front of himself, Rude finally registers something amiss.

There isn't just one personnel file on the desk; there are _two._

" _Rude_ , Sal once described you as something quite poetic. I'm not fond of... sentimentality myself, but it stuck with me." He twists the now slowly smoking cigarette butt in his fingers, looking at Rude seriously. "He said you reminded him of the smouldering embers of a fire- full of the possibility of devastating force, if given the right conditions."

Sal had told him the same to his face, once. Fancied himself the next author of a hit like _LOVELESS_. Rude had confiscated his beer and told him he was too wasted to be talking to other human beings, and their evening had carried on as all of them did. A few drinks, then heading their separate ways. They never spoke about it again. Hearing the same words from Veld, there is suddenly a weight to them- an expectation he hadn't anticipated.

"We have... a _promising_ , but difficult, recruit. He's good. He gets results." The tone is careful- controlled. Rude has a sneaking suspicion that Veld isn't quite so fond of the person he is speaking about. As if even a _meagre_ compliment is a task to utter. "But he's difficult. He doesn't listen to orders, he acts like paperwork is some kind of imposition, and his appearance on duty is..."

Veld almost turns grey. The line of his lips – already narrow naturally – is almost paper thin now.

Rude understood. If there was _one_ thing Veld loathed it was improper dress at work. A traditionalist; the only non-regulation aspect of his attire which Rude had somehow _not_ received negative comment on had been the trio of piercings he had gotten following his first run in with a bullet. Well. _Three_ bullets. Apparently, every member of the Turks had a coping mechanism- something they did, after a brush with death. Tseng, of course, would go down to the shooting range, and not leave until the targets had no heads left on their shoulders, and his ears were ringing for a week. Gun and Katana would go and get wasted somewhere; drink until they couldn't even begin to see straight, and spend the following day at work wallowing in the worst possible hangovers. It was comradery at its _finest_. Neither of them ever dealt with it alone.

And Rude? It was piercings for bullet wounds that might have been the last thing he ever felt. Always _piercings._ A hole he chose to put through his body, rather than one he had not. It had started as a whim - just something he considered in passing as he patrolled Wallmarket. He wasn't sure about stab wounds yet – had considered tattoos, but wasn't so sure - Sal had joked that he should just go get into a fight, and get another one, that he had _decided on for himself._ Rude had laughed into his beer and rolled his eyes behind his shades.

Veld clears his throat- brings Rude back into the world. "Considering your track record, your current availability, and your technically senior rank in this instance-"

"Wouldn't call myself senior-"

"You're alive after thirteen months. _You're senior._ " Veld's response is snappy, _brusque_. He has no longer got the patience for chit-chat. "Having discussed this with the Assistant Director, we intend to assign you two as Partners."

There's a moment; an odd pause. Veld looks at him - a long, long stare - as if he expects something to be said. Rude finally shifts his weight to his left foot.

He isn't sure he wants a new Partner. Not yet. Sal's death seems so fresh... maybe it has been some months, but even that had gone by so quickly. He had kept busy with work: finalising a lot of what Sal had left behind, keeping on top of his own paperwork... and then he had started doing new jobs on his own. _Occasionally_ he might support another pair in the field but... It hadn't really occurred to him that he would have a permanent partner assigned, even given time to adjust.

Veld's expression says it all.

They had been giving him as much time as they could, _already_ ; delaying the inevitable.

He and Tseng were good like that. Veld especially, considered the Turks as something of a family.

But _now..._

"Sir."

The boot was coming down. They couldn't afford him any more time.

"It's not ideal; but perhaps having you for a Partner will have a positive effect on his less-than-professional behaviours. _And..."_ As he speaks, the Director of ShinRa Electric Power Companies' department of administrative research adjusts Rude's file on his desk. "It might help you to have a Partner who doesn't treat the Job quite as seriously as you do. You can't always be on duty, Rude. _That's how mistakes happen._ "

There is no sympathy in his tone; only cold fact.

Rude wants to call him a hypocrite but even he knows that- even when Sal was still alive- he never really had an off switch. It was the one negative thing Sal wouldn't ever let him hear the end of, even if they were the same, in that respect. Even if Sal himself, had never known where to draw the line with work, and whatever life he could muster outside of it.

Even if it was the thing that had killed Sal, in the end.

"Understood."

"There will be a review in four months time. If the Partnership is deemed to be working, we'll assign you both permanently. If not..." As Veld side-eyes the other file on his desk, Rude realises that he can see at least three yellow transfer forms jutting out amongst the much thicker collection of documents. His own file seems sparse in comparison. "Well. No one would be surprised, and we would have to consider _other avenues._ " He leans back in his chair, and pinches the bridge of his nose as he presses the button for his Intercom. "Has Reno arrived?"

The name rings a bell. Rude isn't sure if that's a good thing or not.

"About two minutes ago, sir." The receptionist chimes in, sounding a little like she's holding back giggles as she speaks. "Should I send him through?"

Gun mentioned him, maybe. Rude had been a little out of the loop with goings on in the wider office, these last few months. After Sal's death, he had taken leave – Director's orders – and then, upon his return, he had been practically glued to his desk for a short while... and then there were the field missions. Week upon week of assignments across the continent, sometimes near Wutai, to assess the growing tensions there, to keep an eye on the levels of dissidence amongst the local population, as ShinRa dug their claws into their precious resources... He went anywhere he was needed. Anywhere they would send him.

Anywhere there was a distraction.

He had been living on auto-pilot; at least three new Turks had entered the office, since Sal – they were thin on the ground, without someone so experienced; and Rude barely knew any of them. Could not have picked them out of a line-up. Perhaps grunted at them in passing, in the corridors, in the field...

He hadn't been paying attention. _That was dangerous._

" _No._ I'll send Rude out now." Slamming his finger down on the intercom to silence any response, Veld notices Rude's raised brow. He sighs. "I have a headache already today, and I don't need an eyesore like his hair to make it worse. You're lucky you're wearing shades."

Something _clicks._ Rude recalls bright red hair, a wicked smirk. A reckless attitude and Gun's complaints about relentless flirting. Tseng muttering something about partners filing for a reconsideration of their assignments. _Begging_. Katana had been one of them, before they finally paired him with Gun.

_It clicks._

"Something the matter, Rude?" Veld's expression invites no insubordination.

He sets his jaw to keep his features as blank as possible.

" _No_ , sir."

"Then go, introduce yourself to your new Partner. And shut the door when you leave, I _don't_ want him thinking I have time for idle chit chat." He leans back in his chair, lighting up a fresh cigarette and turning his attention to the window once again. Rude doesn't ask what he's looking for; knows it's not his place. Just nods, and turns on his heel, making for the door.

The receptionist is giggling again; the sound blossoming in his ears the moment he pushes his way through the office door and out into the lobby. Rude can now see why: the gangly, sinewy muscled young redhead- unnatural, bright red, like fire, or a clear sunset somewhere far away from Midgar- who had thrown himself almost maniacally out of the chopper on the group run a month or so back (the same redhead who had gotten himself and two other Turks injured for 'reckless behaviour', despite also getting the desired result), stands before her. He's leaning on the desk upon one elbow, his other bent, hand tucked into his trouser pocket. Rude has seen this a _thousand_ times before; sleazy idiots at the bar would do this to the waitresses who were making their drinks. The angle gave her a clear view of the line of his body, and him a clear view of her cleavage. _Clearly,_ a practised tactic.

He looks up when Rude closes the door; probably, more than anything, to see what has suddenly distracted Angela's attention from him.

To his credit, he manages a _very_ good impersonation of someone who has just inhaled a very unpleasant smell, as his eyes land on Rude, and the initial darting glance from head to toe is completed. He looks _appalled_.

"Oh _no fucking way, yo_." A distinctive voice, with very specific inflections. He sounds like someone from Midgar, for sure- but coarse. Unpolished. Below plate. Not Sector Seven... perhaps Three. Or Two. He has that look; the body language, of someone who has had to fight for whatever he could. Scrap and scramble to keep his head above water.

Rude notices. Notes. Doesn't say anything.

"Veld has got to be- _Angie_ , you sure this is him? _"_ His attention is back on Angela, who seems totally thrown by the reaction. Rude likes to think it's because she thinks him a fundamentally nice human being, and not because of whatever reason drives her to ask him to pick up 'heavy' items she has dropped around the area – always insisting on standing somewhere behind him, 'in case something happens'. "Come on, babe, I can't be cooped up with the _brick wall._ "

"Mr Veld said he was very happy with the arrangement- a-and you know, he's a great guy," Reno turns from her the moment she fails to give the answer he wants, looking bored. Angela looks crestfallen, but he doesn't notice. His eyelids hang low, as he gives Rude yet another head to toe.

"Then he's smoking something more than just cigs, cuz _this guy?_ And _me?_ No way."

Angie sighs, letting go of her disappointment at the lost attention; laughs softly, and shakes her head as she begins clicking through something on her computer screen. Exasperated. Her voice is good-natured, when it sounds. "You said this about the last two, Reno."

"And look how _they_ turned out. Assholes." He leans back against the reception desk, shoulders hunched and tight. A strand of red hair dangles down in front of his eyes, and he runs a hand through it to push it back. His gaze slides over to Rude within a matter of seconds; a scathing look. As if Reno is double-double checking that, yes, Rude is _really_ there, and is _really_ supposed to be his new Partner.

He thinks it would be funny to suggest Reno take a photo, because it might last longer.

He doesn't say a word.

"So?"

Rude quirks a brow. "So...?" He hasn't exactly done anything to earn disdain just yet, and so Reno's attitude seems uncalled for. They aren't children. Toddlers fighting over a toy, or annoyed that they've been asked to share a juice box. They're adults, and this is their job.

Reno stands up straight, shoves hands into his pockets and just stares. The air is heavy and uncomfortable; Angela seems a little too interested in her computer screen. Clacking away desperately at keys. It's a wonder she hasn't faked a call or an errand to excuse herself yet.

"Well, you gotta have a fuckin name, right?" Reno pushes away from the desk and begins heading for the elevator across the lobby. With a glance at Angela for any kind of silent advice he can get, Rude judges from the hapless shrugging and exasperated look that this is pretty much the norm with Reno and his new partners.

He takes a deep breath, grounds himself, then follows.

A few months. Only a few short months.

As he just manages to slip into the elevator before the doors close on him - by no means failing to notice Reno's fingers holding down the door close button the whole time – a few months seems like forever.

"Rude."

Reno snorts. "You're either calling me out on my manners, or your parents had shit taste in baby names." He's sizing Rude up again, in the confined space of the elevator. There is a whole head of height difference between them - and _then some_ \- and Reno quite clearly hates that fact. Keeps hunching his shoulders and growing more sour faced by the second. "Look, I don't need a Partner, so you stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours, yo. And then in four months you're gonna tell them it didn't work out, then we're both done. Free... And I don't have to look at your stupid bald head again." He pulls a face that Rude can't really figure out. "Seriously do you just shave your head every day? Weird, yo."

Admittedly, standing and taking the abuse isn't how Rude would usually handle this situation. But if he handled it how he normally would, Reno wouldn't still have a jaw in the correct socket. There would most definitely be a concussion involved. But Rude is a _professional_ above all else- and someone hoping to aggravate a response out of him has to do better than a few snide comments and unimpressed glances. Considering the father he grew up with, this was nothing; he heard worse before breakfast, for sixteen years of his life.

This is _nothing._ Just another bump in the road.

_Just four months._

Reno elbows past him when they reach the floor for the office; wordlessly and angrily. Like somehow it was Rude's fault they had been partnered. He can see why three previous Turks had filed for early transfer - day in, day out, this attitude was bound to be exhausting.

Rude however, is no quitter. He strides behind Reno like he belongs, and goes to sit down in his booth like always. They've moved Reno's desk, not his, and he's glad of the fact. Though, admittedly, there's this brief, jarring sense as he sees someone else's belongings boxed up on the desk that had, before it lay empty, belonged to Sal.

Reno doesn't notice. If he does, he doesn't care. Sighs and groans and scuffs his boots across the carpet as he makes his way into the booth. To anyone else, it would look like he was being led to execution. In the space of the last ten minutes, Rude has amassed enough mental notes on Reno to fill a whole notebook; he is deceptively easy to read, and that in itself is dangerous. For a Turk, being easy to read was not just unlikely – it was _impossible_. It is, he knows, almost a guarantee that what Rude is seeing is not necessarily the full picture.

But then, if they're not going to get along, is there any real _point_ trying to find out what that, in fact, is?

And so, Rude doesn't comment when Reno kicks his chair before sitting down upon it. It was Sal's, and his new Partner is being ridiculous, but it will be easier if they just get along as best they can. No reaction is, he figures, better than a negative reaction.

It’s going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

About two hours into the very strained, and very _slow_ afternoon, Gun's head bobs up from behind the wall of the booth, just in front of him. Rude would be taken aback, but she does this with relative frequency, most especially when he has to find some joy in completing endless reels of paperwork, or working through reports and databases on his computer. Her pitying smile is oddly comforting, as she mouths a silent 'you okay?' and makes a quick, nodding gesture towards Reno. The disdain in her gaze, steely behind her blue eyes, informs him that her previously established dislike of their new colleague - following the botched helicopter run Rude had recalled him from - has not in any way dissipated.

A small comfort, but a comfort all the same.

He shrugs, lightly, and glances over to Reno’s desk; his new Partner has been - essentially - sulking since he took up his new work station. Leant back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk - one foot bobbing to some beat that only he can hear - another tick, another tell, for Rude to note down. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, shoulders drawn so tight that they almost touch his ears. It is painfully clear that he hasn’t completed a single item of work; computer still switched off, and his gaze firmly fixed upon his shoes, glowering as if they’ve done something to offend him. It looks as though he has obliterated several paper clips, in the last few hours - their mangled carcasses scattered across the floor around his chair.

Rude feels something - _a nerve_ , probably - twitch in the left side of his face, and his clenches his jaw and tries very hard to resist the urge to gather up the offending items, and put them in the wastebasket in between their desks.

But there is only about an hour of their workday remaining, and starting any kind of confrontation now seems a waste.

“Rude, do you wanna come with us to do some training? Katana and I were just about to head up to the gym… before it gets busy.” Gun’s offer is appreciated, and - knowing her and her Partner’s usual routines - will take up the remainder of the day, and then some. Physical Conditioning, as Tseng called it, was considered a viable way to spend working hours on quieter days where their work resided around their desks. Rude had, in the months following Sal’s passing, spent a few too many hours of his working weeks up there… and perhaps, to make the next few months more manageable, he could continue the trend. Keep himself away from his and Reno’s shared booth, and the heavy atmosphere it currently held.

“Yeah.” He lets his lips quirk just slightly upwards, and nods at his paperwork. “Let me file these.”

“Sure - we’ll go wait by the elevator, okay? See you there.” As she leaves, she shoots him a soundless ‘you’re welcome’, and drags her Partner up and out of his chair - where he has been hunched - attempting to make himself invisible - since Reno’s arrival. The behaviour isn’t lost on Rude, who knows that they had been assigned to one another for a short period, before Katana had desperately _begged_ for a transfer to work with Gun instead; and it is less than comforting. He smiles apologetically at Rude as he is dragged off - keeping his gaze away from Reno, as if just looking at him is some kind of critical error.

Rude shifts the paperwork on his desk into a neat pile - clamps it together with a paperclip, and securely locks it in the top drawer of his desk.

He pretends not to feel Reno’s eyes on him, as he stands and roots through the filing cabinet in the corner of their booth, gathering his gym supplies; pretends that the sudden scrutiny is not unnerving. His shoulders feel tight, and it takes him two tries to mentally tick-off the items in his gym-bag… he isn’t fond of being stared at. Self consciousness, and an awareness of his own size - how much space he takes up in the room - prickles at the back of his neck.

When he turns back, Reno is focussed on his shoes, much like before. But his chair is rotated a little further towards Rude than it had been before. 

Though the answer will most certainly be no, Rude is - _almost_ \- tempted to invite Reno along. Just to show willing… but his body language is closed off, gaze so stubbornly fixated on the dirt caked upon his boots, that Rude thinks better of it.

He isn’t really sure what kind of approach to take; not yet. But it doesn’t seem as if Reno is the working-out type. 

After an awkward, dithering pause, Rude slings his bag over one shoulder, and heads out to meet with the others.

* * *

"It's only four months until review, Rude. You just need to stick it out." Katana - knowingly - smiles, pats his shoulder, and goes back to completing his fifth set of bench presses. Rude stares numbly at the rack in front of him, and debates skipping his last few lifts. They have been here for almost two hours, now; he is tired, and has a sneaking suspicion he will need all the energy he can possibly spare for tomorrow's workday.

Gun butts in before he can finish that train of thought; bobbing into his line of sight with a kettle-bell held either side of her hips, and a grimace on her features. "Want me to spot you while I'm doing my hamstrings? We can suffer together."

He nods, mustering the smallest, most grateful smile he can, and gets back to work; loosens his shoulders and focuses on pushing through his heels. The burn in his muscles is familiar, and gives him something to focus on; Katana leaves ahead of them, just under an hour later, but Gun stays nearby, focusing on body-resistance whilst Rude destroys a punching back for a while. He ignores how the gym attendant watches him very, very carefully throughout the ordeal; probably concerned that it is going to lead to another broken bag, and expensive replacement... but things after Sal had been different. A deep-rooted sense of self-loathing, which this... this simply couldn't compare to. Being assigned a bad partner was one thing - losing a partner who you looked up to and cared about was something else entirely. Knowing you could have done something - somehow - to prevent it... that still ate away at Rude, every single day.

He could stomach having Reno as a partner for a few months, surely.

Gun seems to think so, as she chatters away to him when they're both done showering and changing, and begin making their way down to the lobby together. 

"I mean, you're the most patient guy I know - remember that time Tseng asked for all the reports even _mentioning_ the Sector 3 slums? And the rest of us kept putting it off, since we figured it'd be thousands of records?" He nods along, pausing to open the elevator doors and let her inside first. "Then we all came in the next week, ready to do it in a rush, and you'd already found like eighty-percent of the backlog, just doing extra hours here and there." She shrugs as she presses the button for the lobby, and smiles at him comfortingly. "Not to mention the amount of questions you deal with from rookies almost twenty-four-seven. If you can handle those, you can definitely handle Reno."

She grins, and leans in a little; voice lower, and a hand on Rude's arm, as if to emphasize the privacy of the comment. He leans his head down slightly, to make sure that she doesn't have to teeter awkwardly onto her tiptoes. "And between you and me, Katana's kind of a wuss, so he _definitely_ jumped ship early when he got stuck with the guy." 

Rude smirks a little, at that - just as the elevator slows, a fair few floors too early for the mezzanine level, and the doors slide open to let someone inside.

"Jeez, hope I'm not interruptin' somethin'." A slow drawl utters, and Rude glances over to a mess of red hair, and instantly feels Gun pull back from him; her hand on his arm jumping away as if burned. "Ain't fraternization frowned upon?"

"Like you're one to talk, I don't think there's anyone in this building you haven't tried sleeping with."

"'cept for you, _sweetheart_ , but bitchy really isn't my type." Reno scuffs his way into the elevator (Rude almost feels sorry for his shoes), and leans against the wall nonchalantly as the doors close. Rude can feel his cheeks flushing a little at the insinuation of Reno's earlier words, but a glance across to Gun suggests that he should just leave the situation be. Her glare - icy and cold - is fixed relentlessly on Reno. 

"Why are you still hanging around, anyway? Usually you're the first out of the office."

He shrugs, gaze shifting from the wall just behind Gun’s head - where he seems content to look when addressing her - over to Rude; whose shoulders stiffen a little at the disdain in Reno's expression. "Veld said I had to wait for this big lug to clock out today before I was allowed to go. Some crap about makin' an effort or somethin', who knows? Could have told me you were gonna keep me waitin' for so long. I could'a been out getting wasted… or laid."

"Sorry." Rude doesn't really mean it - and he's quite certain that Reno can tell that much. He clicks his tongue, and rolls his eyes, and looks about as fond of Rude right now as Veld had looked of Reno, earlier. 

"So I'm guessing you're still not interested in coming for drinks with us?"

"Wouldn't wanna be a third wheel, yo. Even if that sounds boring enough for me to catch some extra sleep."

"Why are you such a dick?! Jeez, come on Rude-" Gun grabs his arm again, as the elevator reaches the mezzanine, and begins dragging him bodily outside. Rude spares a quick glance at Reno, in passing - tries to slow their steps. "We'll just go meet Katana and the others, and you can live your sad little life, with no friends-"

"Sure you aren’t coming?" It comes out of his mouth as he looks at Reno - really looks at him. He suddenly looks, to Rude, like so many of the children he grew up around on the streets of Junon. That same, wirey, unkempt look of someone lacking any real companionship - any real care. Just trying to get by. Lashing out because it's easier to do so than to admit they need help, or even just some company. Rude doesn't feel pity for him, of course - his behavior was his own choice, and if that choice was to be actively difficult, then pity was in short supply - but for a brief moment, Rude feels like he _gets_ it. The facade. The bravado. He has seen it all before, and sometimes - only sometimes - an offer of something genuine is all it takes.

Reno stares at him; takes a moment to blink, as if the words are a surprise. Perhaps, Rude wonders, no one has really given him the benefit of the doubt before.

He also thinks, absently, that Reno's eyes are striking - the faintest hint of what looks like green Mako energy flickering within each grey-blue iris, though it could be a trick of the light.

"I got better things to do." He doesn't quite sound like he believes it, but Rude just nods - accepts that his olive branch has been dismissed, makes a mental note not to try again - and lets himself be dragged off by Gun.

"Sure you do - and I'm a damn Ancient. Jeez." Gun tucks her arm through Rude's elbow (and he tries very hard not to pull himself free, discomfort at the contact spreading through all of his muscles in an instant), and leads him through the rest of the building, and out of the stark white lights of the ShinRa building, into the street beyond. "Just a few months, Rude. Then he'll hopefully be a problem for another department."

Rude doesn't mention that Veld had suggested a much less pleasant fate for his new Partner, and simply lets himself be dragged along, into the dim Midgar streets.

* * *

When he had woken up the following morning, Rude had been grateful for taking it easy on the drinks the night before; much as his nerves and suffering morale had demanded to be soothed with alcohol, he had sensibly stopped when the room had begun to feel inexplicably warm, and a little fuzzy. His co-workers, it seemed - by the time he had arrived at the ShinRa building - had not been so sensible; Katana rarely knew his own limits, but Gun - usually very sensible - seemed to have been fuelled in her drinking by rage over Rude’s predicament. Passing their booth, Rude had noted that - whilst both in work on time - they were hunched over cups of coffee, heads in their hands, and aspirin packets present on their desks.

Reno’s chair was, unsurprisingly, empty, when Rude arrived at their shared booth; and it remained so until shortly before eleven, long after the work day had begun. His late arrival had been heeded by a lot of groaning, shuffling, an ‘accidental’ kick to the base of Rude’s chair, and then an unceremonious ‘thwump’, as he collapsed into his own, and promptly pulled his glasses (goggles? Rude noted the strange choice of accessory silently, without comment) down over his eyes.

They didn’t really talk, on that second day - and now, almost a week into their Partnership - Rude rather wishes he had tried to broach _any_ kind of subject. Had tried to break the heavy silence, because it seemed, four day into their new assignment - that this was becoming something of the norm.

He appreciates quiet; won't deny that.

But this was something heavier. _Colder._

At random intervals throughout the week, he has felt eyes on him; only to glance back and catch Reno _just_ averting his gaze. Or catch him rolling his eyes and scoffing, at some behaviour that Rude had never considered might be a bother to anyone else; his particular arrangement of papers upon the trays on his desk, or the system he has for his stationary. The way he wipes down his desk before he leaves each night, or has a hanger for his jacket, when he needs to remove it.

On the third morning, he had noticed that two of his better pens had been stolen, and that his paperclips had all been mangled - left strewn messily, and at random, across his work surface - but had not commented. Simply removed, and replaced them. 

Reno, sporting two new pens on his own desk, and a glare that could wilt plantlife, had not seemed too impressed at the time. Perhaps, he had hoped to elicit a reaction.

Rude, if nothing else, was an expert at poker faces.

He most definitely doesn’t wait for Reno to go and make himself a coffee in the kitchen down the hall - a task which Rude is already a hundred percent aware takes a solid ten to fifteen minutes, because Reno likes to dawdle - and _certainly_ doesn’t use that time to knock one of the rubber feet from the bottom of one of Reno’s chair legs - leaving the furnishing permanently wonky on one side… and most _definitely_ does not change his computer settings so that the ‘@’ key on his keyboard delivers a comma instead.

_That would be childish._

For what it’s worth, Reno doesn’t seem to even _consider_ the possibility that this was Rude’s doing - and that only makes the situation more amusing. He indignantly yelps, when he topples backwards in his suddenly unbalanced chair after attempting his usual lounging posture, and grumbles over numerous returned emails - trying to figure out why his keyboard is misbehaving. It had given Rude reason to chuckle, on the journey home from work.

But now that he is making his way into work - knowing that they will be assigned a field mission, or patrol, today - Rude finds himself quietly wishing that he had made more of an effort to actually interact with Reno. Perhaps, he thinks, it might have made _some_ small difference… something to make the idea of wandering the Midgar streets, late into the night, just the two of them, a little less… _tense._

When he crosses paths with Tseng, approaching the elevators in the main lobby of the ShinRa building, the Senior Administrator (his official title, on the company payroll), shoots him a knowing, half-apologetic nod. 

“You’re patrolling sectors three-through-five today, correct?”

“Sir.”

“Your Partner will be in a better mood today.” It almost seems like an attempt to comfort him; Tseng utters the words as he presses for the elevator to take them up to the mezzanine level. Before they will have to exit this elevator and enter the staff-only, secured ones instead. “He enjoys field work.”

“Seems restless, doing office work.” Rude offers; watching as Tseng - stepping into the elevator and straightening his tie as he goes - pulls an expression that is hard to read. It might be fond exasperation - but fondness is something he offers openly very, _very_ rarely. 

“Indeed. But it is a part of our job.”

Rude has always thought that being ShinRa’s unofficial hit-men involved a lot more paperwork than it ought to have done, but decides against voicing this opinion. _Don’t ask how high. Just jump._ Takes up a spot next to Tseng in the elevator, and pretends not to feel briefly queasy as the steel contraption judders into life - swooping them onward and upward. 

“You’ll both be out quite late - but I expect fully written reports on the patrol, on my desk, first thing tomorrow.” Tseng, as always, has a very businesslike way of informing his staff that they will not be making the last train home. Thankfully, Rude thinks, it is a short walk to sector two from headquarters… though, now that he thinks about it, he isn’t entirely sure where Reno lives. A tiny voice in the back of his mind wonders if he will be stranded, by a late night - but then, it shouldn’t really concern him. “You can both remain onsite overnight, if you wish. But I would rather _not_ have you sleeping at your desks.”

Rude makes a mental note to suggest they use the Employee Rest Area on the sixty-fourth floor, if their work isn’t completed before 2.a.m, at the latest. Wandering home from work, exhausted, in the early hours of the morning, had been how Sal had slipped up.

_‘Head home, Rude, I’ll catch you in the morning.’_

He wonders, sometimes, if things might have gone differently if he had not just assumed Sal would be fine to get home on his own. A ten minute walk had, at the time, seemed harmless.

Crashing for the night at Headquarters, he decides, is the smarter choice. There’s free coffee, at least, and the beds in the Rest Area aren’t _terrible._ He has slept on worse, and can without a doubt guarantee that Reno has, too… he does not, Rude thinks, read as the kind of guy who would fork out the cash for a decent mattress.

Rude is briefly pondering if he could perhaps fit in a late-night workout, since the gym is on the same floor, when the elevator judders to a halt, and Tseng steps out into the mezzanine level.

It is something of a surprise to find Reno waiting there - well, _waiting_ doesn’t exactly do justice to the way he is lounging against the opposite wall - shirt askew, and half open, and a lackadaisy demeanor exuding from his entire person. He looks… _sleazy,_ like he belongs in a much less formal and businesslike locale than the ShinRa building. Like he might try to ply you with illegal substances from a dingy alleyway, for a price… a profession Rude wouldn’t doubt he had dabbled in, before finding himself within the Turks. Not that he could ask, of course - Reno hardly seemed inclined to share histories with Rude, and sneaking down the the archive and leafing through his personnel file wasn't exactly above-board.

“Yo, boss.” The greeting - aimed at Tseng - is more fond than any that Rude has witnessed from Reno before now, and it jarrs him for a moment; step faltering ever so slightly. Whilst the expression on his features isn’t exactly much different from his usual sly, skeevy demeanour, there is a certain… respectfulness to it, that is missing when he regards Rude, or Gun, or anyone else for that matter. “How’s it hangin’?”

“Reno.” A nod. Curt as he is with any other member of his department. “Very well, thank you. I was just telling Rude that I expect a report from each of you on tonight's patrol - on my desk, by tomorrow morning.” A pause; a sigh. Tseng looks at Reno pointedly. “ _My_ idea of the morning, not _yours._ ”

Rude bites on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smirking; all throughout the week, he had not witnessed Reno make it to his desk before 10.a.m, and the confirmation that this is famous enough behaviour that even Tseng has to make this distinction, is oddly amusing. He glances across to see if Reno has the decency to look embarrassed, at least - and finds narrowed eyes staring right back at him.

It is unexpected - he hadn’t thought he had made a sound. Was sure he had kept his amusement private.

He shifts, uneasy, and focuses his attention back onto the back of Tseng’s head.

Reno’s gaze follows, after a moment - back to Tseng’s features, as he pushes himself off the wall and approaches. A slow, careless saunter. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure Brick Wall over here’ll tell you if I skip out early too.”

“You won't. You will _complete your assignment alongside your Partner,_ Reno.” Tseng’s tone does not leave room for argument, but when Rude looks across to Reno, he sees the roll of green-blue eyes, and an exasperation that is downright foolish - considering who it is aimed at. Rude has witnessed the Senior Administrator kill a man in three moves; in under five seconds, to boot.

His new Partner, he thinks, is an _imbecile._

“Yeah sure. Come on, Cueball. I’m bored of sittin’ behind that damn desk.”

Tseng sighs - shakes his head - and then turns to Rude to offer a small nod, before heading towards the elevator that will take him up to the Departmental offices; leaving the two men alone. Reno, already heading into the elevator back down towards the lobby, sighs heavily, and kicks the closing door until it slides back open again, and looking at Rude with all the contempt he has come to expect across this past week. 

“You comin’?”

 _Huh,_ Rude thinks to himself, as he turns and heads towards the elevator. 

“Yeah.”

At least this time he held the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh lawdy lawd. It's been a while, huh? I've got like 6 pieces of this series half-finished in my google docs- and I'LL GET THERE, I PROMISE. Remake's coming in fast... LET'S FEED THAT REVIVING FANDOM!


End file.
